One Hundred Feet

Last Sunday, my husband and I enjoyed one of the best movies in a long time, in the historic Franklin Theatre in downtown Franklin, TN. The theatre is beautiful inside and out and host to many concerts and movies, as well as a swingin' new year's eve party with Tommy Dorsey. We sat in the front row right in the center - perfect seats. What unfolded during the 2-hour movie was a beautiful story of two opposite cultures joined by a mutual love and respect for fine cuisine and a strong desire to achieve success for their families. Each family's story was lived out in the restaurants they poured their lives into, directly across the street from each other. It was a love story peppered with the spices of India and the haute cuisine of France. We dove in headfirst into a sea of sensory enticement - we could smell the intoxicating aroma of curry and tikka masala. We felt the cultural tension as Bastille Day was celebrated with fireworks and fine hors d'ouerves, all while tapping our feet to the rhythms of Indian music from across the street. We were transported to the beauty of France's countryside and their panache for fine dining and aristocracy, juxtaposed with empathy for a displaced family from India trying to rebuild their lives through their fledgling restaurant in a country where they had no ground.

But this was just a movie - a work of fiction to be enjoyed. The music score was beautiful, the setting was breathtaking, and the acting was superb.

Now, two days later, I am pondering the concept of a one-hundred foot journey. That is the distance that separated the two restaurants and cultures. It was simply a walk across the street, much like you and I in our neighborhoods. Or maybe it's the distance from your office to a coworker you don't agree with or get along with. Or maybe, figuratively, it's the distance between you and a loved one - that distance that could be traversed by a phone call or an email.

I believe we all have our one-hundred foot journeys. We have broken relationships, or relationships we have refused to engage in because we feel (you can fill in this blank). And no matter how justified we feel (a subject for a different blog), or how far we believe the chasm to be, it's truly only one-hundred feet - 25 to 30 steps. With each step we take, we are saying NO to hatred, anger, bitterness, unforgiveness, coveting, envy, jealousy, greed and pride. We are saying YES to love, forgiveness, peace, and kindness. We are saying YES to community and faith. We are saying "you matter more to me than I do." We are saying "we are better together." We are unclenching our fist in order to grasp the hand of another, to embrace rather than fight, to stand rather than run.

Jesus has strong words to say about how we love - just read Matthew chapter 5. And then start walking. After all, it's only one-hundred feet.

Peace.

Down in the Valley

It has been a very long time since I posted anything to this blog; not for lack of desire, but simply because I didn't think about it. When you're riding high on the mountaintop of life, living in incredible moments doing life with others, blogging doesn't always rise to the top. Then come decisions. Transition. And sometimes, we end up alone with our thoughts. Suddenly, the blog calls loudly as a space to exhale. A true friend of mine who is also going through a tremendously wild and wonderful transition right now said this: Transition sucks but transformation rocks!!! We can either embrace change and trust God to become better through it. Or we can be angry and become bitter because of it. The choice is up to us. Chaille Brindley, you nailed it! I'm in the midst of transition.

We all are, actually. Whether we realize it or not, we are moving toward something, becoming someone. I knew it was coming all year, and Sara Young's beautiful devotional "Jesus Calling" confirmed this impending change every day as Jesus beckoned me to trust Him, lean into Him, surrender to Him. Now I sit in a different home in a different city and state with great expectation of what is to come. My husband has an amazing new job that could not be a more perfect fit, and we are rejoicing! But me, well let's just say I have a lot of alone time now, as we haven't made new friends and we are searching for a new church home. I miss my friends from back home (but wait, isn't this home now?). I miss my co-workers, those tireless men and women who labored alongside me with so much heart. I miss my students - they inspired me every day to dream big. Yep, there's a lot I miss. In Christian-ese, you might say I've had my mountaintop experience and now I'm down in the valley. This is supposed to symbolize being close to God and then, perhaps, being far from Him. Or maybe, life was going so good, and now it sucks. But here's the thing. My valley is green and full of new life - life I didn't always see from the top of the mountain. My valley is quiet and peaceful. It's a place where I can go for long walks and talk to my Jesus, all day, about anything. And He talks to me. I can forget this when I'm on the mountaintop where His voice gets dim amidst all the clamor. Nothing much clamors down in the valley, other than gentle breezes and chirping birds. Sounds a bit like...a garden.

Is it a bit lonely? Yes. Do I feel isolated? Somewhat. I'm in the valley of waiting and resting. It's not a place I visit often - I'm more of a "doer." But I'm finding a new peace in the waiting, and I'm soaking in as much of God's presence as I can, knowing that when the wait is over, there will be work to be done. And I want to be ready.

  Michael Card penned these words in a song: There is a joy in the journey, there's a light we can love on the way, there is a wonder and wildness to life, and Freedom for those who obey. Amen.